Nicole Barbour studies the migratory movements of sea turtles of different age classes to inform conservation strategies. Upwell’s “lost years” partnership with Dr. Helen Bailey at the University of Maryland Center for Environmental Science (UMCES) supports Nicole’s research tracking sea turtle hatchlings in the Caribbean. She has a BS in Biology from California State University, Monterey Bay and is currently a doctoral student at UMCES.

One of the first things people say to me when they find out I’m a scientist that studies sea turtles is: “Wow, you are living everyone’s childhood dream!” I am living my childhood dream, though my day-to-day work may be  different from what most people expect when they think of being a marine biologist. So, what is it really like?

My work as a scientist who studies sea turtles is 85% sitting behind a computer and 15% fieldwork. Fieldwork is what everyone thinks of when they hear “marine biologist.” For some, the ratio might be heavy on the fieldwork side, but I actually spend most of my time writing code, running statistical analyses, writing papers and proposals, reading papers, getting up to eat some snacks, and then sitting back down to do more analyses, reading, and writing. Though my eyesight suffers from staring at screens, I love it all!

Being a scientist is not defined by incredible intelligence and Einstein-like intuition; it is defined by tenacity, teamwork, creativity, courage, and the ability to “MacGyver” anything. 

This reality may be a bit of a soul-crusher to those who picture me swimming epically underwater in full scuba gear next to giant sea turtles and sharks 24/7. Furthermore, fieldwork is not the glamorous, smooth-sailing, short adventure (narrated by David Attenborough) often depicted in documentaries. I have definitely experienced those beautiful, glorious moments that make you revel in the awe of nature and the opportunity you have been given to interact with it. They make all the hard work worth it, but they are sporadic and fewer than you’d think. Being a scientist is not defined by incredible intelligence and Einstein-like intuition; it is defined by tenacity, teamwork, creativity, courage, and the ability to “MacGyver” anything. 

Case in point: I spent a month researching hatchling leatherback sea turtles in a remote location—Pacuare Nature Reserve in Costa Rica—during the summer of 2018. That summer was much wetter than normal. The first day on our small fishing boat, after only 30 minutes on the water, we experienced a downpour that immediately turned a beautiful day on the water tracking baby sea turtles into a nightmare of giant swells, wet equipment, and everybody but our captain puking over the side of the boat. My plan was to place hatchlings one-at-a-time in the water with tags attached, track each one for about an hour, and simultaneously record data (with the help of other scientists assisting my research) on weather, water temperature and salinity, wind speed, and current speed. This is a great plan when you can see and don’t have to throw up. Instead, the day felt a little like a scene from the movie, “The Perfect Storm”, thankfully minus the 100-foot rogue wave. We immediately lost one of the surface buoys we used to track the current speed, then a $300 hatchling tracking tag, and I threw up more than I have ever have consecutively in my life. And that was day one. 

The day after that was better. Despite feeling anxiety about getting the data I needed, I bucked up and used the extra supplies we brought to construct another surface buoy. And I only threw up three times!

That month in Costa Rica was full of ups and downs (sometimes literally, in fluctuating swell conditions). I had days where we got all the data we needed, the captain brought ice-cold Coca Cola on board, and I saw crocodiles, spoonbills, poison dart frogs, white-faced capuchin monkeys, and agami herons. Not to mention my research required watching the adorable baby sea turtles we were tracking swim away from their nesting beach. Then there were days where I lost (or sometimes, forgot) more equipment or turtles, got either drenched or burned beyond belief, and got eaten alive by swathes of mosquitoes and sugar ants. 

In the end, I got amazing, novel data on the early dispersal movements of leatherback sea turtles in this area, an imperiled population that can be better protected and conserved with my research findings. But, boy, was I ready to come home and eat a gallon of ice-cream with a cheeseburger on the side while sitting in my PJs in front of my laptop running code!

Being a marine scientist who studies sea turtles is great. It’s a job I wouldn’t trade for the world. But it has its share of blood, sweat, tears, and gallons of coffee behind the scenes. I study sea turtles not only because we have so much missing knowledge on their ecology and migratory movements, but also because they are in critical need of research and conservation to keep many populations from disappearing. My ability to contribute to that cause and to further science, using my own research and a talent for being able to sit still for hours behind a computer or endure long hours on a moving boat (even while throwing up) is what makes me proud to be a scientist who studies sea turtles! 

Marine biologists come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors and, although the work we do is usually not in a white coat with safety goggles or scuba-diving underwater with dolphins, it is amazing to be able to contribute to conserving nature and furthering scientific knowledge, no matter whether it happens behind a computer or in the field.